Sins And Tragedies
by cottonmouth
Summary: Dean finds out a few things about Sam’s relationship with John. Wincest of the SamDean variety, mentions of child abuse
1. Chapter 1

Summary – Dean finds out a few things about Sam's relationship with John. Mentions of child abuse, Wincest and other dirty things

Disclaimer – Not my boys, just my story. If you like, please review!

Chapter 1

Sam woke up in agony. His body was on fire, burning through to his bones. He was choking on harsh pants of air, trying to get enough breath to scream. He couldn't focus, couldn't see, and the panic made him thrash. Hands on his arms and chest restrained him and he tried to fight them, to strike out.

"Easy, Sammy, calm down, I've got you, I'm here" Dean's voice finally filtered through the haze and he stopped struggling at the sound of it. As his body stilled, the hands became less binding, fingers softer, trying to soothe away some of his pain.

The fire that had initially seemed to consume his entire body receded, until it was contained to his left arm and shoulder only. The memory of what happened floated back to him, a poltergeist haunting an old hotel. They had been checking it out, him, Dean and John Winchester, when it decided it had had enough of their trespassing and had flung an iron bar in their direction. Sam had taken it through the shoulder, and he remembered the shock of looking down and seeing it embedded firmly in him. Staring at it, fascinated, he hadn't felt pain until Dean had shouted out, his face pale and frantic. Then he had collapsed to the floor, screaming and spitting curses.

His vision cleared and the first thing that came into view was his brother's face, tight with worry. He realised that Dean was holding his upper arm still, the bar removed at some point while he was unconscious. He was lying on his back on a lumpy bed at the motel they had checked into earlier that day. John Winchester sat on the right side of the bed, one hand on his good shoulder to hold him down, the other patching up the wound. He was frowning in concentration. When he raised his gaze to his youngest son and saw awareness of his surroundings, his frown deepened and Sam saw the unmasked disgust before he turned back to his work. John's disappointment in him was nothing new, although since he had rejoined his sons, he had obviously tried to keep it in check, treating Sam with the complete indifference he had previously reserved for when Dean was around only.

Dean's face relaxed slightly as he saw Sam's face clear of the blind panic. Sam felt something stroking his cheek and realised it was Dean's other hand, the back of his fingers brushing the same spot in a repetitive motion, giving him something to concentrate on other than John's stitching of his shoulder.

"Hey little bro. You back with us?" Dean attempted a reassuring smile. "Had me worried there. Fucker got you good."

"Did you get it?" Sam's voice broke on the words, his dry throat hoarse, but he forced them out.

"Course we did. One of my finer exorcisms, if I do say so. It's a shame you had to miss it."

"Yeah, bummer." The brothers exchanged weak smiles.

"Try and get some rest, son." John said in a cold voice, taking his attention away from Dean. "You lost some blood, but you'll be fine after I patch you up." Sam gave a weak nod as he looked tentatively at his father, but John's attention remained on his shoulder, his fingers working methodically. He looked back at Dean, who tightened his grip on Sam's arm slightly and continued to stroke his cheek, reassuring him that he was there. Suddenly too exhausted to worry about nightmares for once, Sam closed his eyes and slipped into black.

Jolting awake from the screams and blood and pain of his dreams, Sam almost sat up before the pull of his shoulder throbbed. Sweat had broken out and the bed sheets were clinging to his body uncomfortably. He kicked them off, the cool night air hitting his bared skin. Someone had undressed him, leaving him in boxers and a fresh t-shirt. The room was dark, John snoring in the other bed. He wondered where Dean was.

"Sam? You ok?" The question was answered as Dean's head appeared between the two beds, his hair sleep tangled.

"Nightmare. 'M cool." Sam whispered in reply, glancing over at their father's sleeping form.

"You're shivering, Sam." Dean looked over at their father as well, then silently climbed onto the mattress with Sam. His brother didn't have the same fear of their father that Sam did, but then Dean had never experienced quite the same upbringing that Sam had, not that Sam would ever voluntarily tell Dean that.

"Dean…"

"Shhh. I was worried about you today, man." Dean tried to keep his voice casual, but Sam could hear the genuine emotion behind it. With a last glance at John Winchester, he let Dean wrap an arm over his chest and press into his good side. He turned his head to face Dean, and they looked at each other with identical green eyes, noses almost touching, before Dean moved in and kissed his brother. The urgency of Dean's mouth against his conveyed the fear Dean had been repressing. Sam responded, his turn now to calm and reassure his brother. Sam slid his good hand up between their bodies to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of Dean's neck. Their tongues battled for control, Sam ceding to Dean as the older Winchester levered himself up to half lie across Sam's body, forearms either side of Sam's head. A muffled moan escaped from Dean, caught in Sam's mouth before it could travel to their father's bed. Pulling away slightly, Dean rested his forehead against Sam's, their panting breaths licking across each others' faces.

"God, Sammy, don't scare me like that again." Dean whispered, barely audible. For once, Sam didn't complain about being called Sammy, instead choosing to pull his brother down for another kiss, this one less desperate than the last. They kissed, wet and soft and easy, until each could taste the other in the back of his throat. Dean rolled back to the side, looping his arm over Sam's waist, his hand coming down to rest possessively on his baby brother's exposed hip bone. Sam's hand remained where it was buried in Dean's hair, and he turned his head to nuzzle briefly against Dean's cheek.

"What if dad wakes up?"

"Don't worry, Sam. I'll wake up before him, he won't find out." Dean pulled the bedcovers back up, over their entangled legs.

"Just sleep."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – Not my boys, just my story

Chapter 2

For once, it was not nightmares that roused Sam from the grip of sleep. He woke slowly, eyes remaining closed as he took in everything around him. Dean's face was buried in the side of his neck, the hand under the waistband of Sam's boxers curled around his hip bone. The regular breaths warming his collarbone told Sam that his older brother was still deep in sleep. He luxuriated in Dean's warmth for a long moment, a lazy smile touching the corners of his mouth as his fingers played softly in the feathery hair at the back of Dean's head. His shoulder was a dull ache, tolerable whilst he was lying still, but he wasn't anxious to try moving his arm. As his awareness widened beyond the bed, his body went suddenly rigid. The outside noise from the road across from the motel's parking lot was way too loud and busy for early morning. His eyes flew open and he looked past Dean's sleeping head to see his father's bed, empty.

The noise of someone clearing their throat arrested Sam's attention, and he looked to the small desk and chair at the foot of the bed. His eyes met the passive gaze of his father's. John didn't say a word, just continued to stare at his youngest son. There was no way to conceal the fact that his sons were clearly sharing a lot more than a bed. Sam looked away, ashamed and almost terrified.

"I think we should have a talk, Sam." He inwardly winced at his father's words, his mind involuntarily calling up memories he would rather pretend weren't real.

"Dad, I…" Sam couldn't finish his sentence and desperately wished for a second that Dean would wake up. But his older brother remained asleep, oblivious to the tension in the room.

"Get dressed and come outside. I don't want to disturb your brother." John's voice allowed no room for argument. Sam watched him go to the door, unable to move for a second. As John Winchester left the room, his youngest son let out a shaky breath.

He untangled his body from Dean's, trying not to make any noise as pain cascaded down his arm with every stiff movement of his bad shoulder. A dirty pair of jeans were half stuffed in his duffle, and he awkwardly manoeuvred them on, using the scuffed wall at his back for support. His green hoody lay across the desk, bloodstained from the fight last night. He stuck his good arm in the sleeve and wrapped it around his body, not wanting to try the lifting necessary to get the other arm in its sleeve. Toeing on his sneakers, Sam looked Dean's sleeping form, still lying on his side, reaching into the warm spot where Sam's body had been. Again Sam was tempted to wake Dean up so he wouldn't have to face their father alone, but Sam knew from bitter experience that it was better to get their confrontation over with before Dean got involved. Taking a deep breath that calmed him not at all, Sam stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Dean woke up with a sudden feeling of _missing_. Before he even fully regained consciousness, he realised what it was. He was in bed alone. Sam was gone. Sleep was forced back as Dean opened his eyes to stare at the side of the bed Sam should have been lying in. Blearily rubbing at his eyes, he pushed himself up on an elbow and glanced round the room, trying to remember why, exactly, Sam's disappearance should be bothering him. Sam usually got up before he did, and he always returned bringing Dean breakfast and coffee.

_His shoulder_. Dean suddenly remembered the events of the night before, watching an iron bar impale itself in Sam, watching Sam fall to the ground, watching Sam's blood gush out of him like it had somewhere better to be. Watching their father sew Sam back up. Their father. Dean looked at the other empty bed. _Fuck_.

"When did this start?" John Winchester's voice was level. He stood opposite Sam on the wooden decking that ran along the front of all the motel rooms, joining them together. The cover overhead protected them from the already burning sunlight that razored down, but the heat pervaded their shelter anyway, leaving the air hot and thick. It seemed to slow Sam's brain too, twisting his excuses and explanations until they were nothing but broken shame. John stood over him, despite Sam having a few inches on his father's height. He felt his father's judgement and blame, and it took him back to when he was sixteen, twelve, eight. It was _his_ fault. He had hurt Dean, again, and it was going to get him in trouble, going to get him punished. He needed to learn, before he got Dean really hurt, got Dean killed, and that would be his fault too.

Sam looked up at his father. John's face was carefully blank, his eyes an even stare at Sam. Sam could only hold his gaze for a few seconds, averting his eyes to stare at the wooden flooring between them instead.

"It wasn't Dean, it was my fault, I had a nightmare, he was just watching out for me." It tumbled out in a childish rush of words, sounding wrong in Sam's now deep man's voice.

"I asked, when did this start?" His father's voice was still calm and collected, and terrifying for it. Sam's mind was blurred, and he had forgotten that he was bigger now, older and stronger.

"After I came back. We were looking for you, we thought you might have been killed, we didn't…" They hadn't wanted to feel alone. Sam remembered the night they'd both almost not been so lucky. The anger and fear they'd felt, faced with not their own mortality, but each others'. The fear of being left on their own.

"You thought I'd died, so you decided to seduce your own brother." John said flatly.

"No, it wasn't…"

"How could you do _that_, Sam? How could you do that to your own brother? I told you before, he doesn't need you, you'll get him killed." _Like you did your mother_, was not said but both heard it anyway.

"I didn't mean…" Sam trailed off.

"You clearly did mean to, otherwise it wouldn't have gotten so out of hand. You left once, Sam. You left your brother and he was fine. Maybe you should consider leaving again." The unintentional reminder of the argument that Sam actually won, the fight was able to walk away from, broke through the old habits of childhood.

"I'm not leaving." The quiet finality of Sam's declaration shocked them both. "You can't make me want to leave again. I'm not a child anymore." When Sam met his father's eyes, the expression hadn't changed. "And neither is Dean. You can't make our decisions for us. I think Dean will question why if I have a bloody nose now." It was the first time it had been said out loud by either of them. Sam felt a flash of triumph as his father's eyes hardened, the first sign of emotion he had shown.

"What?" The third voice made both men turn toward the motel room door. Dean stood in the now open doorway, wearing the same rumpled t shirt and boxers he had slept in, looking between his father and his brother with a face as pale as milk.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer – Not my boys, just my story

Chapter 3

Dean couldn't think, couldn't even try to take in the conversation he was clearly never meant to have heard. Seeing his father and brother, standing opposite each other like gunfighters in the midmorning heat, the anger and _hatred? _radiating off both of them, so tangible Dean could taste its bitterness. They both stared at him, shock evident in their expressions. Neither said a word, and Dean realised this was another contest, they were still trying desperately to best each other. His face tightened in anger.

"What the hell is going on?" He forced out through tense jaw. His dad's face was closed, a mask hiding his emotions, but the shock was still there, being forced down beneath layers of calm and patient blankness. His little brother was never good at hiding his emotions though, and Sam's face was a myriad of expressions, anger, shame, hatred, fear, panic, all scrawled haphazardly over him. The one that hit Dean most, however, was the desperate hopelessness that he had only glimpsed in his brother a few times before Sam slammed walls down around it. Now Sam had it displayed for anyone to see, an empty blackness in his soul that was darker than any night Dean had ever seen.

"I think we should go inside." John's quiet statement drew Dean away from his examination of Sam. As he turned to face his father, he saw Sam's head drop to stare at the floor. His father had collected himself while he was looking away, and his control was re-exerted over his sons. Dean nodded once, not willing to allow himself to be sidelined before he got some answers. He turned and walked inside, standing by the exit as John and Sam followed him in. John went to the chair in front of the desk, sitting down and facing towards Dean, never dropping his gaze. Sam sat on the floor with his back to the bed furthest from their father. His bad arm was wrapped tightly around his stomach, and the other was holding the hoody on his shoulder. He stared blankly at the floor a few feet in front of him, wrapped up in himself both figuratively and literally.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking at both of them. His mind was frantically trying to work out possible explanations, desperately avoiding those too awful to even contemplate.

"What were you talking about outside?" He started the necessary conversation. Might as well get straight in there.

"Dean, son, we didn't want to wake you. I woke up and saw…something disturbing, and I hoped Sam and I could get it sorted out before you got up." His father leaned toward him as he talked. "Sam admitted that certain…boundaries were crossed between the two of you while I was away. I wanted to know how far it had gone." Dean felt his cheeks start to flush, but he ignored it.

"Dad, you told Sam to leave." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam was motionless, still curled around himself on the floor.

"It wasn't meant like that. I wanted Sam to understand that what you're doing, what's between the two of you, is wrong, it can't continue."

"Dad…" His face was burning in embarrassment, and Dean couldn't help but glance at Sam.

"Dean, you know this can't continue." The declaration was clearly meant to end the conversation, but Dean still hadn't found out what he needed to know.

"Sam, why did you say that I'd question if you had a bloody nose?" Dean changed tack, turning towards his baby brother. Who if it was possible, appeared to make himself even smaller under Dean's scrutiny. The vulnerability of the pose and the pain Sam was clearly feeling right now made something inside Dean's chest crack. "Sammy?" Sam gave a quick glance up at their father, whose face betrayed nothing, and then he continued to stare at the floor.

"S nothing Dean. Drop it." Sam shut him down abruptly.

"No! Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" Dean snapped, but faced with two equally determined men, his outburst was pointless. He walked to the second bed and dropped to sit, head in his hands.

From the corner of his eye, Sam could see his father, sitting tall like a king on a throne. Dean was in front of him, slumped forward, face covered by his hands. Dean knew. He knew but he didn't want to say it, to admit to himself that the father he idolised had been someone completely different for his little brother. And it hurt, Sam ached to be able to take it back. Dean was never supposed to find out, it was supposed to be his secret to keep until death. When he was younger, he thought Dean could do anything. Dean was big and strong and unbreakable. To a five year old Sammy, his big brother was the best person in the world, he could fly to the moon and back if he wanted to. But he quickly learnt that there were some things Dean shouldn't find out ever, because even though he could fight monsters and fire a gun and protect Sammy with his life, there were some things he should never be asked to do for his little brother.

He raised his head to take in the two men. Neither were looking at him, and for a second his heart broke and he thought he was going to cry.

"I'm going for a walk." He was up before either could stop him. "I'll be back soon." He made it outside and closed the door behind him as he heard Dean call his name. The hot sun blinded him as he paced across the dusty parking lot, and he blamed it for the tears that he suddenly couldn't stop.

Dean was on his feet as Sam walked out the door. Leaving him again. Only now he wasn't so sure that leaving the first time had been entirely Sam's idea. Cursing as Sam ignored his call, he grabbed his bag from the floor space between the two beds where it was covered by the blanket he had begun the night sleeping on. Digging through it, he couldn't find the clean jeans he knew were in there. In exasperation he upended the whole thing on Sam's bed.

"What are you doing?" His father had stood up at the same time Dean did.

"Going after him." Dean didn't bother to look up. He was afraid of what he might see when he looked at his father. If his guess about that conversation was right _Oh come on Dean, there's no way to misinterpret what you heard _then his father was someone he didn't know. Someone he has never known.

"Leave him. He just needs some time to calm down." At that, Dean did look up at John, the anger he felt boiling over. He needed to know.

"I'm going to find Sam." He picked up some clothes at random and pulled them on, turning away from his father.

"Dean, this…relationship between the two of you, it's going to get you killed. Sam is a distraction you can't afford." John was almost reasonable, but Dean didn't want to listen. "I understand, after dealing with the situations we deal with, you want to feel alive, it's a perfectly normal reaction. But that's all it is. A reaction to a situation. It's not worth risking your life over." Dean looked at his father, trying to see past the mask.

He couldn't see the dad he had played ball with at three, before his mother was killed. The dad that had walked up and down the living room, bouncing a crying baby Sammy on his shoulder while Dean watched quietly from an armchair. The dad who had carefully laid Sammy in Dean's arms a week after he was born, telling Dean that he had to look after his baby brother now. Not even the dad who had taught him how to hunt, brought them both up as warriors, told him that if Sam wanted to leave then they should let him go and live his own life, be happy for him.

"It's Sam." He turned away and walked out the door, leaving John Winchester behind.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer – Not my boys, just my story

Chapter 4

Sam sat slouched in a crappy diner in town. The booths were plastic and slouching wasn't the most comfortable position, but he didn't move. A waitress had brought a cup of coffee over to him half an hour ago, but he hadn't touched it, only stared at the cup sitting on the scratched Formica table. The window next to him displayed the world of happy families and sunlight and laughing that he had never known before Stanford, and he watched, jealous and wanting. A man walked by across the road, holding the hand of a little girl with a mess of long blonde curls. As Sam watched, the father picked up his daughter, and she laughed in delight as he settled her on his shoulders. Sam looked back at the coffee.

He knew that by walking out, he was giving up. Giving up on his childhood dream of being a proper family, giving up on the ongoing battle with his father that he thought he ended when he left for Stanford, giving up on Dean. Giving up on Dean was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, and he'd already done it once before. But he couldn't keep going like he was, the fighting had taken so much out of him. So he had given in to his father, and he hated himself for it already.

He had never wanted to ask Dean to choose. He couldn't hurt his brother that way. He wasn't sure he could stand the pain of _losing_ his brother that. So he tried to tell himself it was for the best. Dean would be fine without him, he had John to watch out for him now, and he would be fine without Dean. Except the ache in his chest seemed to disagree.

He was in love with his brother. He had known it from the first time they kissed, fierce and vicious and so _right_ it had been like an electric current linking, raw energy shooting through his nervous system. It had been a different kind of love to what he felt for Jess, more primal, more _necessary_. He had never been able to tell Dean though, it was as much a secret as that _other_ thing. Because it was wrong and twisted in his head with his fathers threats and warnings of _You'll get Dean killed_. But he had wanted to, desperately, on those nights when they were lying twined together, sweaty and exhausted, languidly kissing and stroking and caressing, revelling in the heat their two bodies had produced.

He reached for his cold coffee, his shoulder jolting with sparks of fire. His hoody was coated with dried blood on one side and there were spots of new blood soaking through the fabric of his t-shirt every time he moved. The waitress had looked like she wasn't sure whether to phone an ambulance or the police when he had walked in the diner, but after reassuring her he was ok and not a serial killer, she had let the subject drop. Now he wasn't so sure an ambulance was such a bad idea. The stitches his father had so carefully sewn into his skin had probably ripped, and Sam had a momentary worry that he would start spurting blood all over the diner. It would fit the day he was having so far. He sat up to try and ease the stiffness.

"Looks like you need new stitches, bro." Sam's head swung round. Dean stood next to him, a shitlicker grin on his face, hands in his pockets.

"Dean?" Sam couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Didn't want to hope that Dean had come after him, disobeying the order their father had almost certainly given. But Dean was solid and real, sliding into the seat opposite his and imitating his slouch so their knees touched under the table. The grin didn't fade from his face, but it never quite reached his eyes. They sat in silence, staring at each other over the table until Sam dropped his head. His hair covered his face and he hoped Dean couldn't see the confusion and anxiety warring within him. He wanted to ask, but he couldn't bring himself to find out if Dean was just here to say goodbye.

Dean had driven round the shithole of a town twice before he stopped to check the dubious bars and diners it offered. The third one he tried was almost empty and Dean was about ready to scream in frustration when he saw Sam sitting in the back. Relief poured through him like water, and he ignored the waitress approaching and strode toward his brother. Sam didn't see him, remaining fixated on the full cup of coffee the fingers of his good hand were idly toying with. He looked pale and drawn, and Dean noted the fresh blood darkening his t-shirt. Briefly he wondered at the type of people living in the town. If they ignored a man wandering round looking like an extra in a slasher movie then maybe they deserved the poltergeist problem. He bit down on his worry as he reached Sam's side, pasting on a grin that stretched just a bit too tight. Sam still didn't notice him, and the despondency on his face told Dean that he was lost in his own head, thinking too-deep thoughts and most probably placing yet more blame upon himself. _Well that has to stop, right now_.

His comment on Sam's shoulder had Sam's attention in a snap, but now with the focus of his brother entirely on him, Dean forgot what he was going to say. He wanted desperately to just wrap his arms around Sam, hold him close and never let him go. Instead he settled for sitting down opposite Sam in the booth, sliding one of his legs between Sam's so he could have some contact, no matter how small. Sam didn't say anything, just stared like he wasn't quite sure if Dean was really there or not. When he looked down, trying to conceal his face, the grin Dean had been holding onto so forcefully slipped away too. He couldn't ignore this, couldn't pretend everything was alright when his baby brother looked so broken. He had to know.

"Sam." Sam looked up, and Dean tried to find the words that had deserted him again. But apparently Sam knew what he was asking anyway.

"It wasn't a regular thing. Just, sometimes, after dad had had too much to drink…" Sam's voice was steady, like he had been practising this before. "You were out, or asleep. He didn't want you to see." The words tore into Dean. He felt like he had just been flayed alive, the confirmation laying to rest the last wishful hope that he had misunderstood somehow.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The most important job he had ever had, protecting his brother, his Sammy, and he hadn't been able to stop one of the worst violations imaginable. Instead he had allowed Sam to be used as an outlet for their father's grief, in fact had unknowingly created opportunities for it. And Sam had never given any indication that something was wrong. Apparently he was a lot better at hiding things

Dean gave him credit for.

"I didn't…" And now Sam's voice frayed. "I didn't want you to have to know. You had already lost one parent. I didn't want to ask you to give up the other."

"Sam…" Dean's dismay broke through the self blame that was already setting in as he realised what Sam was saying. But Sam stood up suddenly, breaking their connection.

"My shoulder's still bleeding. Did you bring the car?" Dean swallowed, allowing Sam to change the subject. He'd never been any good at expressing his feelings.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer – Not my boys, just my story

Chapter 5

Dean couldn't meet his brother's eyes. Sam was awkwardly leaning on the trunk of the Impala, which Dean had moved to the back of the parking lot so he could treat Sam's shoulder more discreetly. Going back to the motel room wasn't even suggested. They hadn't said anything after leaving the diner, wary of each other in a way that was completely foreign to them. Dean hated it, hated the silence, but he couldn't bring himself to break it. Sam was hurt, and not just physically. And Dean had ignored it, instead demanding more, forcing Sam back into this world. The guilt was choking him. He couldn't understand, why had Sam said nothing after they found dad? The search for vengeance for Jess' death was reason enough to cause him to help Dean search for a father he was sure Sam must hate. But after finding dad, they found no new answers.

Dean had to cut off Sam's t-shirt to get to the wound, fearful of damaging it more by raising Sam's arm to take it off. Blood had soaked through the gauze pad, coating it entirely in red, but the stitches beneath still held. Dean cleaned the wound up and used the remains of the t-shirt to slow the bleeding, then taped a fresh bandage over it. The heat of his brother's skin beneath his fingertips branded him, and he spent longer than necessary smoothing the tape down. Dean wanted nothing more than to kiss the collarbone beneath his hand, to soothe away all of Sam's pain, but he held back. Their father had used Sam as a way to take out his pent up emotions, and really, wasn't Dean using Sam in the same way? They had done things together that brothers were not supposed to do, and Dean remembered his fathers warning, it was a reaction to a situation. And maybe Sam didn't really want this, maybe he was just going along with it for Dean's sake. Dean pulled away, feeling himself die a little inside. Stood back and watched Sam ease the stained hoody back around himself and stand up so he was facing Dean.

"Are you gonna leave?" The question threw Dean completely, and it took a second for him to process what Sam was asking him.

"You think I'm going to leave you?"

"I don't know. Are you?" Sam caught his eye, almost shyly questioning. Dean was incredulous. Sam actually thought he was going to abandon him? It hit Dean then, the reason Sam had never said anything. He thought Dean would choose their father over him.

"God, Sammy, no. I wouldn't leave you, I could never leave you. Dad did something wrong here, not you." Sam looked at him, searching his face. Dean held his gaze, mentally imploring Sam to believe him. Like sunlight filtering thought clouds, tentative hope appeared in his eyes, partially obscured by the shield of his hair. Dean's hand was out, reaching for Sam before he could stop it. It seemed Sam didn't mind much though, and Dean suddenly found himself holding onto armfuls of his baby brother, who was clinging to him so desperately Dean gave up any thought of pushing him away. He felt tears against his neck, and he knew. John Winchester wasn't right all the time. So when Sam kissed him like the world was ending, Dean kissed him right back, because maybe it was. And he wanted to see what came next.

Driving through the dusty heat, Dean looked down at Sam, sleeping with his head in Dean's lap. The sunlight and shadows painted his face in sharp lines and beautiful angles. They were both broken, and maybe they couldn't be fixed. But they could hold each other together, so it was ok.


End file.
